Page 44 of The Mortal Queen

Aisling opened her mouth to speak but before the mortal queen could gather herself, Galad’s voice materialized, emerging from the fog.

“Three,” he said. “Two.” Aisling’s heart thrashed violently. “One.”

Peitho exploded from the starting line, flying down the field. Aisling did her best to shake away the thoughts, her stag bucking, desperately aware of the distance Peitho was increasing by the breath.

“Go, Aisling!” Galad shouted.

Aisling encouraged the mount forward, cutting through the morning air. She pushed the stag, whispering for it to run faster, quicker, harder. She could feel its determination, its fury, its will to win at all costs. She coaxed those feelings in the stag. Allowed the stag to feel her own desire to win, herneedto claim this one victory.

Peitho was far ahead, already gathering her arrow and pressing its head against the bow’s rest.

Aisling clenched her jaw and narrowed her focus on the target. The stag flying beneath her. The ground below its hooves was a mess of color and texture. Aisling had never ridden this quickly. Never been allowed to. It was an opiate. That sweet sense of peril.

Aisling and the creature raced at Peitho’s heels. A feat she once believed impossible when she’d seen how far ahead Peitho charged. But the dummy was taking form in the distance and she was running out of time to attempt a strike.

Aisling reached for her bow, releasing the reins in one hand. The gesture alone challenged her balance, nearly catapulting Aisling from the stag and into the mud below. But alas, she managed the bow. Now the reed. Aisling took the arrow from its quiver, squeezing the stag beneath her thighs to keep her balance.

“Set the arrowhead on your fist to steady it. I like to draw an imaginary line, a thread between the tip of my arrow and the target. Then inhale and shoot with the exhale.”

Aisling imagined the gesture, then performed it herself. Much, much more difficult done than said. For the arrow continued to fall off her fist, worsened by the rock of the stag beneath her. She couldn’t possibly aim under such conditions let alone on her own two feet.

Peitho was beside her now, the string of her bow pulled taut. At any moment, she’d release it, patiently bidingher time.

Aisling inhaled and drew the string back—far more difficult than Noirin, Deidre, Blaine or Gilrel had made it seem. Her mortal muscles shook, not quite strong enough to hold the string in place for long. Body aching. All of her was as rigid as a board.

This was it. Aisling couldn’t hold the string much longer. So, she set it free. Fired the reed before Peitho.

The reed cut through the air and travelled across the field with wicked speed. Aisling caught Peitho’s disbelief as she herself released the string.

But who shot first mattered not, for the mortal queen’s arrowhead soared over the dummy and into the feywild beyond.

Not only had Aisling missed the target, she’d done so miserably.

Peitho’s reed, on the other hand, nailed the dummy in the mouth.

Clumsily, Aisling’s body relaxed, muscles going slack, still burning from sudden exertion.

Peitho brought her mount to a stop elegantly, admiring her work on the dummy before wrenching the reed from its head.

“A pleasure,mo Lúra.” Peitho grinned, the stag prancing beneath her triumphantly. “Don’t take too long searching for your arrow in those woods. I hear the Unseelie are feral these days.” And with that, the southern princess frolicked back towards the group, leaving Aisling alone at the brim of the woods.

The mortal queen fumed. Her entire body was charged only by the loathing she felt towards Peitho. A hatred, a jealousy, that thankfully distracted Aisling from all the fae princess had just told her. It could all be lies. It could be a deception Peitho delighted in. But Aisling, despite her own hopes, knew it wasn’t. Peitho had enjoyed spilling those secrets too much for any of it to have been a mistruth.

Aisling approached the woods on her mount, but the stag reared, unwilling to enter the forest.

The mortal queen cursed under her breath.

“Very well, I’ll go on my own!” she shouted at her stag, dismounting and marching straight into the greenwood’s keep.

The arrow was lost, and Aisling harbored little hope of ever finding it amidst the unruly brush. But Aisling preferred facing some other Unseelie than returning to the group empty-handed. Tangible proof she’d failed so miserably, she couldn’t find the arrow try as she might.

So, Aisling ventured deeper into the forest, ignoring the fear that brewed within her. Flashes of the Cú Scáth breaking through her courage the longer she searched. But her eyes didn’t catch onto an arrow. Only a snake glaring back at her. It was perched upon a low hanging branch, hissing sweetly.

Aisling approached it cautiously, half anticipating it would slither away. But it didn’t, rather it watched her through slit pupils, considering the mortal queen as she navigated deeper into the forest. Until someone or something pressed her against a tree. Pinned her to a rowan before she bore enough time to scream.

CHAPTER XV

“The mortal princess appears unable to resist certain peril,” Lir purred, his face mere inches from her own, her feet dangling above the ground to meet his great height. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Where’s Galad?”

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